ASNEHA 


THE 


Legend  of  the  Opal 

Illustrations  and  Text  by 

CARLO  DE  FORNARO 


Published  by  MARCUS  & CO. 
Jewelers 

544  Fifth  Avenue 
New  York 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 
Getty  Research  Institute 


https://archive.org/details/asnehalegendofopOOforn 


ASNEHA 


THE 

Legend  of  the  Opal 


Illustrations  and  Text  by 

CARLO  DE  FORNARO 


Published  by  MARCUS  & CO. 
Jewelers 

544  Fifth  Avenue 
New  York 


Copyright,  1902,  by 
Carlo  de  Fornaro 


J ' aspire , volupte  divine  ! 

Hymne  profond , delicieux  ! 

'Tons  les  sanglots  de  ta  poi trine , 

Et  crois  que  ton  coeur  s' illumine 
Des  per  les  que  versent  tes  yeux  ! 

— C.  Baudelaire . 


Utter  a powerful  song  to  Indra,  which  will 
be  as  sweet  as  butter  and  honey. 

— Rig  Veda. 


✓E  upon  a time,  in  the 
land  of  Kasi,  there  lived 
a poor  musician,  who 
was  also  a poet  and  a 
most  imaginative  story- 
teller. He  had  lost  his 
flute  in  a village  brawl, 
and  being  too  poor  to  buy  a new  instrument  had 
to  content  himself  in  relating  wonderful  legends 
concerning  the  gods,  and  stirring  tales  about  the 
jungle  people. 

One  morning,  feeling  the  necessity  of  commun- 
ing with  his  spirit  in  quiet  and  solitude,  he  wan- 


5 


dered  into  the  jungle  under  a favorite  cluster  of 
bamboos. 

His  soaring  imagination  was  checked  in  its  flight 
by  a song  of  so  extraordinary  a tune,  so  novel  and 
strange  to  his  ears  that  he  fancied  he  had  been 
carried  up  by  unknown  favor  to  Indra’s  heaven. 
The  heavenly  singer  was  only  a small  bird  with 
feathers  like  old  gold,  two  eyes  green  as  emeralds, 
and  the  beak  and  legs  of  the  same  color. 

And  the  Golden  Bird  spoke  to  him  : <cAsneha  ! 
thou  hast  acquired  great  merit  by  thy  devotion  to 
matters  spiritual,  by  thy  kindness  to  animals  and 
to  human  beings.  Therefore,  if  thou  wilt  cut  a 
reed  within  these  woods  they  shall  repeat  my  songs 
to  thee.” 

“ But  have  a care,  thou  must  remain  pure  and 
not  suffer  to  be  deluded  by  the  love  of  woman, 
and  thou  shalt  conquer  the  world.” 

He  cut  a flute  in  haste  and  pressed  his  lips  to  it 
to  utter  a song  from  it.  And  verily  the  music 
which  flowed  from  its  opening  was  divine  and 


golden  beyond  description.  Sometimes  it  sang 
softly  as  the  moonbeam  plays  on  a silent  lake  of 
emerald,  dancing  and  trembling  with  so  gentle  a 
rhythm  that  only  the  soul  of  a poet  could  hear  its 
melody ; at  other  times  it  swelled  its  notes  to  the 
power  of  the  roaring  Maruts  smiting  against  the 
unmovable  Himalayas,  as  the  wrath  of  Kali  with 
the  shiver  of  the  cold  snows  from  the  eternal 
summits.  Again,  its  melody  dripped  sweetly  as 
the  whitest  of  honey  with  the  scent  of  a thousand 
flowers,  of  innumerable  forms  and  shadings  the 
most  delicate.  It  wept,  also,  a song  of  despair 
and  misery,  so  sadly,  so  pitifully,  that  it  caused 
the  tears  to  surge  as  readily  as  the  Fountain  of 
all  the  Sorrows. 

So  he  incised  on  his  flute  this  motto  : 

“ Once  upon  a time  the  Golden  Bird  sang  to 
me, 

Now  I shall  sing  a golden  song  to  the  gods.” 

He  went  from  village  to  village,  from  city  to 
city,  playing  with  the  generosity  of  an  inspired 


9 


poet,  followed  by  man,  woman,  child  and  beast 
alike,  whenever  he  put  his  flute  to  his  lips.  They 
offered  him  their  homes,  their  riches,  their  dearest 
possessions,  but  he  scorned  all,  accepting  only  a 
little  rice  with  spices,  partaking  of  shelter  with 
the  humblest  when  the  tempest-beaten  jungle  for- 
bade his  sleeping  out  of  doors. 

Quickly  his  fame  had  spread,  and  reached  the 
ears  of  the  Maharajah,  who  bade  him  appear  at 
the  palace,  to  vie  with  the  court  musicians,  who 
were  the  most  famous  in  the  land.  The  court 
musicians,  in  their  ignorance,  eyed  the  half-naked 
poet  with  a defiant  leer,  as  one  by  one  they  be- 
gan playing,  while  nearby  sat  the  Maharajah 
with  his  daughter,  the  fair  Mahismati,  and  the 
courtiers  around,  all  fairly  laden  with  gems,  ap- 
pearing as  enormous  glistening  scarabei. 

They  sang  and  drummed,  they  scratched  their 
fiddles  and  twanged  their  guitars,  they  played  the 
harps  and  clanked  the  cymbals  to  the  admiring 
assemblage  of  noblemen,  who  wondered  how  this 


miserable,  half-starved  vagabond  dared  to  compete 
with  his  wretched  little  instrument. 

When  the  musicians  had  ended,  Asneha  got  up, 
announcing  the  Song  of  Songs. 

It  began  imperceptibly,  but  as  insinuatingly  as 
the  language  of  a couple  of  loving  eyes  whispers 
to  another  loved  pair ; so  indistinct  to  the  ear  that 
it  was  as  the  incipient  melody  in  the  mind  of  the 
composer. 

Then  it  continued,  soothing  and  muffled  as  the 
patter  of  small  naked  feet  dancing  the  nautch  on 
the  marble  flooring;  rattled  speedily  as  an  incessant 
cascade  of  rubies,  diamonds,  sapphires,  pearls  and 
emeralds  on  a basin  of  gold.  Steadily  it  flowed,  like 
a Song  of  Desire  and  Voluptuousness,  filling  the 
hall  with  a scarlet  inundation  of  light ; heavy  and 
numbing  as  the  exhalation  of  soporific  flowers. 

But  now  it  ascended  to  healthier  altitudes  like 
a Song  of  Victory  and  Exultation,  direct  and 
concise,  in  a blast  of  crystal  trumpets,  higher, 
slowly,  in  the  manner  of  the  eagle. 


13 


It  rang  forth  agitated  and  sonorous  as  a gong, 
yet  farther,  solitary,  inaccessible. 

Then  as  if  it  had  grown  in  magnitude  by  the 
ascent,  it  roared  like  a planet  as  it  shoots  into 
space  to  restore  the  equilibrium  of  the  Universe, 
and  suddenly,  unexpectedly,  in  the  fashion  of  the 
shooting  star,  it  stopped  short,  carrying  in  its  wake 
the  exhausted  assemblage  of  listeners  to  the  floor 
as  a mass  of  inert  flesh. 

One  by  one,  as  do  the  reeds  after  the  violent 
gust  of  wind  has  blown  over,  they  raised  them- 
selves, but  not  quite  so  erect  as  before.  The  mu- 
sicians approached  him  humbly,  and  breaking 
their  instruments,  threw  them  at  his  feet,  salaam- 
ing and  promising  never  to  play  again  from  that 
day  on. 

Then  Rajah  Nila  spoke  : “ Oh  Asneha  1 Thou 
art  indeed  a great  musician,  and  thou  shalt  be 
rewarded  as  befits  a king ; my  riches,  my  king- 
dom, my  daughter,  are  thine  for  thy  choosing  ! ” 

“ Oh,  Rajah  ! ” answered  Asneha,  “ I am  only 


5 


a poor  man  and  a musician  by  divine  grace,  but  I 
am  not  a beggar,  and  have  no  desire  for  thy  kingly 
gifts  and  thy  fair  daughter  ! ” 

The  astonished  Nila  replied  : “ Assuredly 

thou  art  richer  than  am  I,  for  thou  art  freed 
of  all  desires!  But  let  me  be  a beggar  for  once, 
and  entreat  thee  for  another  song!” 

❖ * ❖ & 

One  day  Pavana,  the  messenger  of  the  gods,  ap- 
peared to  Asneha  mounted  on  his  white  antelope, 
a flag  in  one  hand,  in  the  other  an  arrow,  with 
a command  from  Indra  to  present  himself  im- 
mediately to  the  gods.  So  he  mounted  the  ante- 
lope, and  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  think  it,  he 
was  carried  to  the  eastern  spur  of  the  great  Mount 
Meru,  which  is  Swargra,  in  the  City  of  Asmara- 
vati,  the  heaven  of  Indra.  All  the  gods  had 
assembled  there.  Above  all  towered  the  great 
and  mighty  Indra,  the  Ruler  of  the  gods  and  Lord 
of  the  Firmament,  mounted  on  his  elephant  Aira- 
vata,  at  his  right  his  dog  Surana,  and  at  his  left 


17 


his  wife  Indrani.  Farther  to  the  left  was  Surya, 
the  god  of  the  Sun,  on  his  winged  horse  Tark- 
shya.  Agni,  the  god  of  Fire,  on  a blue  ram, 
and  Varuna,  the  god  of  Waters,  on  his  terrible 
Makara. 

At  Indra’s  right  was  Yama,  the  god  of  Death, 
on  a blue  buffalo,  with  his  twin  sisters,  the  Yamu- 
nis,  at  their  feet,  the  Sarameyas,  their  faithful 
watchdogs. 

On  Yama’s  right  was  Kuvera,  the  god  of 
Wealth,  with  his  sister  Kuveri,  in  their  aerial  car 
of  jeweled  lapis-lazuli. 

Then  Soma,  the  god  of  the  Moon,  on  a white 
antelope,  and  Mangala,  the  god  of  War. 

Also  the  goddess  of  Love,  Radha,  and  all  the 
lesser  gods  in  magnificent  array,  in  all  their  splen- 
dor, in  all  their  beauty  and  power,  watching 
silently  Asneha. 

Indra  patted  Airavata,  and  then  spoke: 

“ Oh  Asneha ! Thou  hast  conquered  the  world 
with  thy  songs,  and  thou  hast  boasted  to  conquer 


19 


''tttWW 


the  gods  too  ! Now  make  thy  boast  good,  or 
thou  shalt  go  into  the  keeping  of  Yama!” 

Asneha  looked  around,  a little  dazed  by  this 
gathering  of  Immortals;  he  then  shook  his  long 
black  hair,  as  if  to  conquer  timidity,  and  then 
began  his  Golden  Song. 

Pure  and  exquisite  as  the  breath  of  woman 
with  teeth  like  pearls,  as  fragrant  as  the  rose  of 
Cashmere,  it  sang,  now  jocund,  now  sad,  as  the 
moods  of  love-sick  Radha;  plaintively  yearning 
as  an  appeal  to  love  in  the  stillness  of  the  starless 
night ; joyous  and  eager  as  the  meeting  of  desir- 
ous lips;  languishing  as  the  woman’s  heart  faint- 
ing under  the  first  kiss  of  the  loved;  it  redoubled 
powerful,  passionate  as  the  march  of  the  conquer- 
ing male  who  has  subdued.  Abruptly  it  altered 
the  rhythm  as  if  awakening  in  readiness  for  battle, 
with  the  clamor  of  an  army  lusting  for  carnage, 
with  the  clank  of  swords,  the  discordant  clash  of 
shields,  armors  and  spears,  the  dull  thud  of  shat- 
tered bones  and  skulls,  vehement  imprecations, 


21 


Yam  a 


deep  blasphemies,  full  of  rancor,  hatred  and  venge- 
ance. 

Then  succeeded  a silence,  heavy,  full  of  terrible 
signs,  as  of  a silent  flapping  of  wings,  of  a roaming 
of  untold  shadows,  blacker  than  the  night. 

It  repeated  the  death-song  of  the  jackal  and 
the  hyena,  with  its  harassing,  fiendish  chorus,  pur- 
suing in  a mad  dance  with  strange  rhythms,  the 
lively  reel  of  the  black  scavengers  on  the  silent 
and  pale  corpses.  Then  it  died  out,  purling  and 
gurgling  as  life  ebbs  out  of  a tortured  body  from 
a deep  and  crimson  wound. 

Pity  and  compassion  returned  to  the  song, 
gently,  caressingly,  as  if  nursing  multiple 
wounds,  infusing  sympathy  and  life,  like  the 
wind,  which  laden  with  coolness  and  fragrance, 
sweeps  over  an  arid  and  desolate  valley. 

It  broke  into  a chant,  strong  and  overwhelm- 
ing, and  so  irresistible  that  it  was  as  a strain  of 
Perfect  Joy;  persevered  tenfold,  omnipotent,  with 
a note  so  true,  so  deep  and  so  infinite  that  it 


23 


was  like  a sip  of  the  Amrita,  blissful  and  oblivi- 
ous. 

All  the  gods  encircled  Asneha,  instinctively, 
irresistibly,  as  the  cobras  surround  the  snake- 
charmer  when  he  plays  to  them  his  captivating 
melody. 

They  stared  at  him  fixedly  as  if  to  get  the 
sound  from  its  original  source,  and  when  he  had 
ended  they  stood  one  instant  stock-still,  dumb, 
overflowing  with  admiration  and  ecstasy.  Then 
they  all  pressed  around  him,  speaking  and  shout- 
ing confusedly  like  ordinary  mortals.  But  a hush 
fell  over  the  assemblage  as  the  great  Indra  slowly 
made  his  way  to  Asneha,  and  for  a while  stood 
absorbed  and  pensive,  looking  at  the  musician. 

He  then  spoke  with  his  clear,  sonorous  voice : 
“Asneha!  Verily  thou  hast  made  thy  daring 
boast  good,  therefore  thou  shalt  become  immortal 
too ! 

“ I cannot  offer  thee  what  is  earthly,  for  thou 
canst  acquire  all  earthly  things  with  thy  song. 


25 


But  I have  created  a gem  which  comprises  all  the 
harmonies,  all  the  melodies  of  music  in  color.  It 
is  ever  changing,  ever  beautiful  and  imperishable 
as  are  your  songs.  Take  it,  and  delight  with  it 
the  mortals  ! ” 

To  the  kneeling  Asneha  he  extended  his  palm, 
where  scintillated,  luminous  and  irradiating  as  a 
perfect  song,  the  Opal. 


